Wanted to see Joe Monfaron once, when he
would settle the question as to the championship of rafts, on sight.
One day a giant in a red shirt stood suddenly before him, saying -
"'You're Dick Dempsey, eh?'
"'That's me.' replied the timber-tower, 'and who are you?'
"'Joe Monfaron. I heard you wanted me - here I am,' was the Caesarean
answer of the great captain of rafts.
"'Ah! you're Joe Monfaron!" said the bully, a little staggered at the
sort of customer he saw before him. 'I said I'd like to see you, for
sure, but how am I to know you're the right man?'
"'Shake hands first,' replied Joe, 'and then you will find out, may
be.'
"They shook hands - rather warmly, perhaps, for the timber-tower, whose
features wore an uncertain expression during the operation, and who at
last broke out into a yell of pain, as Joe cast him off with a defiant
laugh. Nor did the bully wait for any further explanations, for,
whether the man who had just brought the blood spouting out at the
tops of his fingers was Joe Monfaron or not, he was clearly an ugly
customer, and had better be left alone.
The St. Lawrence, its rafts of timber, raftsmen, voyageurs and
their songs, are pleasantly alluded to by a sympathetic French writer of
note, X. Marmier, [105] who visited Canada some thirty years ago:
"On the St. Lawrence, traversed by steamboats, by vessels heavily
laden, and by light bark canoes, we may see early in the season
immense rafts of timber that are brought down from the dense northern
forests, hewn where they are felled, drawn to the rivers upon the
snow, and made up into rafts. The Canadian crews erect masts and
spread their sails, and by the aid of wind and current, and sometimes
by rowing, they boldly guide these acres of fir down the rapids to
Quebec, while they animate their labours with the melody of their
popular songs. A part would intone the Canadian song
"A la Claire Fontaine,"
while the others, repeating the last two lines, would at the same time
let drop their oars as those of the former arose.
"There is probably no river on earth that has heard so many vows of
love as the St. Lawrence; for there is not a Canadian boatman that has
ever passed up or down the river without repeating, as the blade of
his oar dropped into the stream, and as it arose, the national
refrain.
"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
"Long time have I loved thee,
Never will I forget thee!"
"And I will here say that there is a harmonious sweetness in these
simple words, that well accords with the simple yet imposing character
of the scenery of this charming region.
